The next morning, Ron left the dormitory by himself without saying a word to Cohen or Harry.
Explanations wouldn't help much—teenagers at this age were stubborn and difficult to persuade.
Later that morning, as per Crouch's instructions the night before, the champions were summoned to a side room off the Great Hall for a briefing about the first task.
This time, only Barty Crouch showed up—there was no sign of Fudge.
Before explaining the task, Crouch gave an official explanation regarding the issue of school assignment from last night's selection—though in truth, it only concerned Cohen, who had been placed under "Azkaban."
Fleur and Krum had already been informed by their headmasters, so the only one unaware until now was Cedric. His surprise was clear when he heard Cohen had really been classified as the champion for Azkaban.
"The first task is designed to test your courage," said Crouch to the five gathered around him. "So we won't be telling you what it is. Facing the unknown is a vital quality for any wizard."
"The task will take place on November 24th, in front of your fellow students and the panel of judges. During the task, champions are not allowed to seek or accept help from their teachers. You'll be allowed only your wand. You'll learn about the second task only after the first one is completed."
"During the preparation period, champions are strictly forbidden from attacking or injuring each other in any way." Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novel·fıre·net
That part sounded newly added.
Cohen raised his eyebrows.
Seriously? They thought he'd try to kill the other contestants just to win?
Was that necessary? This felt like a serious underestimation of Dementors.
"Given the intensity and duration of the tournament, champions will be excused from end-of-year exams."
The regulation was straightforward, but Crouch still handed out a sheet of rules to each of them before they left.
"That no-exam clause must've been made for the Hogwarts champions," Cohen said as he and Harry left the room. "No way those Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students stuck on carriages and boats can sit proper exams…"
"Shouldn't we be more worried about the unknown task Crouch mentioned?" Harry was already getting used to Cohen's offbeat logic. "How are we even supposed to prepare for something we know nothing about?"
"Learn more spells?" Cohen said. "Like Summoning Charms or Bubble-Head Charms."
"Those don't sound very helpful in a fight…" Harry seemed skeptical.
"Well, Hogwarts isn't gonna teach you dark curses. If you want advanced stuff, I could teach you some nasty ones," Cohen offered.
"Um, Cohen?" Cedric caught up with them from behind. "What Crouch said earlier… about Azkaban…"
He still seemed to be wrapping his head around it. Originally, he'd thought all three of them were Hogwarts champions.
"It's hard to explain, but yeah—they put me under that label," Cohen said. "Apparently I have a relative serving time in prison, so the Goblet connected me that way… Wait, that sounds even weirder when I say it out loud—"
After chatting for a bit, Cedric left. They were competitors now, after all—and originally, he had been Hogwarts' sole champion. Even though Cohen was technically assigned to a different "school," with Harry now in the mix too, it was hard not to feel displaced.
Cedric didn't show it, but he surely wasn't thrilled.
Other Hogwarts students weren't as subtle.
Apart from Gryffindor, the other three Houses gave Cohen and Harry nothing but cold looks. Most believed the two had somehow cheated the Goblet into spitting out their names—just for fame.
Cohen was now getting a taste of what it felt like to have his Dementor side exposed. That growing, gnawing impatience to destroy everything around him… it was getting harder to ignore.
He figured it was time to ask Nicolas Flamel if there was a way to speed up the development of bottled humanity.
He didn't tell Edward or Rose about this—he didn't want them worrying.
"Well, at least you're worried about your parents being upset," said the Count inside the cabin. "That means you're not a full Dementor yet."
"I've been seeing you as more and more appetizing," Cohen said dryly.
The Count squawked in horror and used his wings to cover himself.
After borrowing Nicolas's notes from Goat, Cohen laid them out on his desk and explained what had been happening to him over the past few days.
"What triggered the shift?" asked Nicolas, pacing in the frame of his portrait. "Was it that Death Eater shouting at you? Or something else?"
"I think it started when I tried to analyze his emotions," Cohen recalled. "His feelings were spilling out like a flood. That's when I first felt the urge to kill. At the time I thought he just pissed me off, but when the Count later asked me why I reacted that way…"
"It wasn't me, was it?" the Count chirped in alarm.
"Of course not, little bird," Nicolas waved it off. "And unfortunately, there's no way to speed up the cultivation of bottled humanity. It's... tricky. I didn't do much research on Dementors when I was alive."
"I haven't noticed Mick showing these symptoms," Cohen said, frowning. "And it's a full-fledged Dementor. Once it lost its urge to feed, it stopped hurting anyone—even under attack. So why do I want to kill people just because I'm annoyed?"
"Because you're not just a Dementor," said Nicolas. "Your bloodline is steeped in dangerous creatures. That wildness might be driving your violent instincts—like how young wizards can't help but pick fights. Your bloodline could be coaxing you to hunt, to embrace your primal nature."
He paused. "Of course, this is just speculation. The emptiness in your soul makes it easier for that wildness to take control and push you toward irrational actions."
"Sounds pretty unstable," Cohen admitted.
"What do you actually want when that feeling hits? Do you want to bite them to death? Or feed like a Dementor?"
"Mostly, I just want to consume their souls." Cohen thought for a moment. "I've fed on the souls of small animals before. Not many humans, though."
"Did it have any effect on you?" Nicolas asked. "After feeding?"
"My soul got stronger," Cohen replied.
"And what about feeding on happiness?" Nicolas followed up. "Have you tried that?"
"I have. It feels filling—kinda like eating dessert—but no real change otherwise."
Nicolas looked thoughtful.
"…Maybe you should try eating some more happiness?"